


Aftermaths

by birbteef



Series: Bad Moon Rising [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Epilogue, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbteef/pseuds/birbteef
Summary: After Crowley and Aziraphale leave the city, they have to face the rest of their lives.(As it is the epilogue, If you have not read Bad Moon Rising this fic will not make much sense)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bad Moon Rising [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861153
Comments: 15
Kudos: 170





	Aftermaths

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to rose V. For the beta.
> 
> Also this work is an epilogue to a previous story called Bad Moon Rising which I would recommend reading first.

All Aziraphale’s life and death he was consumed by the nervous uncertainty of the future. Punishment and consequences plagued him from his start no matter the justification behind his actions. Now though, after everything he’d been through, there was a disconnect. Maybe Gabriel could find him. Maybe he’d be hunted down like an animal and condemned to yet another death, as if the previous three weren’t enough. Or maybe he would be left alone. Maybe Gabriel hadn't given him another thought after he'd left Lordran.

The longer he travelled with Crowley the more he came to the realization that Gabriel actually didn’t care. He’d been sent out as a punishment and whatever happened after that didn’t matter. He was no longer allowed to return to his home, and that was the true consequence. He’d never see his family, his friends, the city he loved so dearly. A banishment by any other name.

It was never about curing diseases or doing the right thing. They just wanted him gone, and gone he was. But Crowley was a very dear consolation prize. 

Aziraphale remembered his time in the dream. It was hazy, as all dreams are, but he knew of the eternity he spent there. He remembered the weeks he would spend by himself, hoping anyone would show up to break him from that loneliness. He remembered the quiet desperation in between each wish that maybe it would be Crowley who would be the one to come. 

It was softened by the haze of dreams, of course. He couldn’t imagine how traumatized he’d be if he’d actually spent that time alone instead of dreaming. It was still there in the silent moments. The slow creeping horror that would overtake him in the rare times Crowley left to do something private. There was a fear he would always be alone. Maybe no one would ever come back and he would wander the planet alone as whatever strange creature he had become.

Crowley always returned with a smile and some treat or object he’d found. Always something for Aziraphale. Always thinking of him even when he was the least important thing to think of.

Crowley did not remember the dream. Crowley did not know of the soft moments he shared with Aziraphale in those time slipped nights. But he had the feeling, the same feeling that made him approach Aziraphale in that bar in the first place. Aziraphale was the only consistent source of comfort in this horrible world every night when Crowley would sleep, and even if he did not remember the dreams themselves the feeling of warmth and love persisted.

So they travelled East. Crowley was still reptilian, but his transformations ceased when they left the Moon Presence’s reach. Aziraphale learned slowly how to control his new form, quelling the fire down into a solid body that could pass for human. When there was no one around though, he let himself simply float along beside Crowley and trail his light and fire as they travelled. They figured he was a specter now for nothing else seemed to make sense. The King had separated him from his body with a directed violence while they were fighting Carmine. It was easy for Aziraphale to look back on it and realize that was when it happened, though at the time he was none the wiser.

Their travels took them far past Yharnam, out of the mountainous countries and into a land of soft rolling plains. They travelled by night, too afraid of what the common folk might think of Crowley’s form. The few times they had been seen Aziraphale set himself into a blaze while Crowley ran, the distraction working very well for how few times they’d had to use it. 

But this soft rolling countryside was truly desolate. It had been nearly a fortnight since they had started their trek, and for the first time they felt they were well and truly alone. 

How wonderful it was for both of them to be alone with someone else. How wonderful it was to have a gentle touch reciprocated. To finally be wanted and heard was a wonderful feeling. Aziraphale couldn’t think of anything more lovely than spending these clear nights with Crowley under the stars, making their way through a wild and endless landscape. 

They came across the cottage on their fourth night in the prairie. It was surrounded by wildly overgrown fields of peas and barley, unkept except by years of natural reproduction under mother nature’s watchful eye. The house was abandoned and looked as though it had been that way for decades. Though the roof had caved in on a single side room, the main living areas were sound and free of molds. 

It was Crowley who came up with the idea to make it theirs. He could tame the fields. Aziraphale could repair the house. 

It was then that Aziraphale truly realized that there was no consequence. Gabriel could never find him. The war would never reach here. The plague of beasts would not progress past the mountains. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he truly felt safe. He owed all of it to Crowley and his willingness to simply do things. 

That evening, after they cleared the debris from the house and caught a rabbit for dinner, they took stock of the contents.

There was a kitchen with a simple cast iron range, a collapsed side room with little to no value, and the main room with a table, three broken chairs, and a single straw mattress rested against the floor.

After smelling it for mold or decay, Crowley collapsed onto the bed with assured conviction that by god he was going to have a good sleep. Aziraphale didn’t sleep. It wasn’t like when he was undead where he couldn’t, but he was just used to staying awake. 

This evening though, with their choices solidified Aziraphale took a chance. He gently sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning back to lay down next to Crowley, noting the sudden breath caught from him. He was taking a chance, both on his own feelings and his assumption about Crowley’s. The gentle hand that crept across his waist to pull him close to Crowley’s chest was all the confirmation he needed. No words were spoken, Aziraphale simply turned to his side and pressed his face to Crowley’s shoulder. 

There was a time in his life where intimacy like this seemed so horrifying. Worse even that the very few times he imagined it, it had been with another man. The thought of women never crossed his mind, and he knew he could never speak such thoughts aloud within the church. He’d never had any carnal desires for either of the sexes, but this tenderness, this gentle intimacy, somehow it was exactly what he had desired all these years. 

For the first time since his first death, wrapped in the arms of a gentle love, he slept.


End file.
